Tick-Tock
by MajesticMoments
Summary: She felt like she had been let in on a secret. And she couldn't tell anyone. [Post-S4, Sally Donovan-centric, Sorta Sherlolly]


Someone had suggested a Sally Donovan perspective and this is what I came up with.

 _Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to ACD & BBC Sherlock. The story is my own._

* * *

She wouldn't be here if Greg hadn't asked.

The day had been mildly warm for spring. So the night shouldn't have been too cold. But when they stepped into the hedge maze, a sudden chill seemed to come over her. The anxiety grew as she continued walking. Flashlight beams worming their way before her as people walked about. The chill seemed to settle in her lower back and it wasn't going away.

This case shouldn't be like _that_. She read the report. It was simple. No murders. No psychopaths. No bodies to be found.

Simple.

Admittedly, she was a bit dumbfounded when Lestrade asked her to join him on this case. Sally chose to believe that Lestrade had simply missed the camaraderie between the two of them and wanted her on the case. Because on paper, this case was textbook. But she couldn't say no to him. It's because of Lestrade she was even considered for a promotion out of the division.

When they reached the center of the maze. She looked to the green grassy walls that towered over her, the top beyond her reach. If she were to put her hand up, as if reaching to the sky, her hand would still fall short three feet. She chose to look down at her feet then. To look at the dirt beneath her shoes.

The walls were overwhelming. And nobody else seemed to notice.

Breathing became difficult. _No_. This case shouldn't be like _that_.

She didn't scare easily. She didn't. But certain cases could get under your skin that sent your body into shock. A chill would run up your spine and stay there. It never went away. It wasn't a way to live to be thinking about it all the time. To be consumed by it.

Greg didn't question her when she made her request to leave. He often had the disturbing cases. And as much as she believed him to be a good superior, she just couldn't handle the cases anymore. Too many bodies. Too many psychopaths. And he understood.

Unlike her, though, Greg couldn't leave. She knew he wanted to. Late night stake-outs talking about the what-ifs. But he'd be too racked with guilt if he did. Too many cases would go overlooked.

To the eye, many considered Lestrade a joke. Consulting with the _consulting_ detective one too many times. Truth was, Lestrade knew when they were out of their depths. _Those people_ were beyond their reach. Sherlock only leveled the playing field. And Lestrade wasn't ashamed to admit it.

Sally didn't always agree with Lestrade, but he was _always_ right. Always right aboutthose cases. She didn't second guess him. Not after Reichenbach.

They hadn't found anything to indicate that this case would be like _this_. Nothing to suspect that something terrible would be found. But she couldn't shake the feeling. Still looking down, she slowly walked backwards until her back was against the leaves of the hedge. Her hand grabbing a branch. Trying to ground herself. It seemed to be working. Breathing was bit easier after that.

Everyone was huddled in the middle of the maze, a circular clearing with a single tree that stood in the center. That's where Sherlock was. Looking down at a lone music box. John and Greg at his side.

Sherlock knelt down, looked at it. Then picked it up. Lestrade warned him to be careful. But Sherlock seemed sure of its safety because he opened it right after.

And nothing happened. Not until he picked up a folded paper inside. Instead of music, it ticked.

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

The same thought went through everyone's mind. She could see it in their reactions. Each stepping back. Tense and unsure of what to do. Greg ordered non-essentials to clear the premises, followed by the order for them to call a disposal team to head there now.

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

It wouldn't stop. Soon it was just Sherlock, John, Greg, and herself. She should have left. Cleared the area when Greg had made the orders.

She wasn't sure why, but she stayed. Greg shot her a look. She only nodded in return. She was staying. Her body doing what her mind didn't want. So she stood her ground.

Each of them just looked at Sherlock. Sherlock unmoving, only staring at the box he held in his hand. The paper in the other.

Slowly he handed the note to Greg, which Greg reluctantly took. Yet he didn't look at what was on it. She wasn't sure Sherlock had looked at it either. Too focused on the box, focused on holding it steady.

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

Sally loathed the detective. She did. But if he could solve cases faster than anyone, finish a second sooner in time to save a life. It was worth it. These situations. He was quick to assess, quick to react. It's why she hated him. He made her second guess everything she thought she knew. Everything. But they needed him. The _calculating machine_ , as she had read once in John's blog.

People often commended Sally for her work ethic. She was always at the office. Staying late into the nights. She didn't complain. Truth was. She just couldn't sleep. Once home, in bed, her eyes would close and she would see everything. It all came rushing back. She lived alone. No pets. No one. She didn't like her flat. If sleep didn't come, she'd be lying awake, wondering if they had just done something different, sooner, maybe the results would have been better.

Headquarters was familiar. She spent more time there. Always making excuses to stay. She wouldn't admit it, but Greg was probably the closest thing to a friend, to _family_. Headquarters was _home_.

It was a quiet evening. The crickets that had chirped in the night air had stopped. The ticking from the music box the only sound in the night. The moment was tense. Waiting for it to stop. Waiting.

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

"No." Her eyes went immediately to the detective who uttered the single word. Her heart stopped. Her breathing stopped. She closed her eyes. Waiting for something to come.

But nothing.

Slowly she opened her eyes, looking to the detective again. His stance different, yet he still held the box steady. He was hunched over. Eyes shut tightly, she could see the wrinkled edges. Repeating "no, no, no…" over and over again. His empty hand to his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

They were waiting for him to say something. To start his deductions in run-on sentences about the music box, about the case, about anything. Anything that they, the simple-minded, might have missed.

But he didn't.

Instead she watched as his breathing increased. His chest heaving. His eyes tighter. Just repeating the words "no, no, no…" His voice shaking. If she wasn't witnessing this moment, here, right now. She'd never have believed it.

He dropped the music box.

The earlier feeling when it started ticking failed to compare to the feeling that went through her as she watched the box fall. It tumbled out of his hands in what felt like a lifetime to land on the ground. Greg. John. Everyone motionless as they watched it land on the ground. Yet it only continued to tick.

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

 _Tick - Tock._

It wouldn't stop.

It all went unnoticed by Sherlock. Who stood back, his eyes still closed. Repeating "no, no, no…"

Still, nothing happened. Then she saw Greg move to pick up the box. Slowly closing it. It snapped shut with a click and then the ticking stopped.

She breathed a bit easier after that. But everyone looked to the detective. His breathing hadn't slowed. Hyperventilating.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, moving towards him, "Sherlock?... Sherlock... Its John."

Sherlock didn't respond. But John got him to at least move towards the edge against the hedge, made him sit down.

"Sherlock, you've got to slow your breathing down." But nothing. The detective continued repeating the same word over and over.

She noticed John send a look to Greg. Greg acknowledging whatever it was that John informed him of. Greg pulled out his phone, sending a text. Followed by a phone call to headquarters to inform them that the incident was a false alarm. Disposal would still come though. Just to be sure.

Sally didn't know what to do. She believed Greg, when he said it was a false alarm. Assured that tonight wasn't going to be her last. But looking to the detective. She couldn't identify the feeling as she watched him in what seemed to be a panic attack. Even his friend, John Watson couldn't pull him out of it.

"Sherlock?" John asked again. But he wasn't answering. Wasn't acknowledging that he had even heard him. Eventually John gave up. Instead, standing up. Murmuring something to Greg.

Disposal arrived then. They took the music box away to a more isolated area. Away from people.

She overheard some of what John said to Greg in hushed tones, only hearing words like _timer, explosives, coffin_. But she didn't know what they referenced to. But Greg seemed to.

Earlier, last year, she heard bits and pieces of an incident involving Sherlock and John from others at headquarters. From those who had been at the scene. She had left Greg's division by that time. Nobody said much about it though. She figured all were a bit too afraid to speak of it since it involved the detective. That it was something _personal_. Greg briefly mentioned the incident. Something of a family issue. But she could tell it was something that hit a bit too close to home for him as well. So she didn't ask again.

Paramedics arrived, but Greg turned them away even though there was no difference in Sherlock. He still sat there, breathing heavily. She was surprised he hadn't passed out yet.

Someone from disposal approached her then. To fill out a hand-off form for the music box, a form just stating that they no longer had the music box and that it was in the hands of the disposal team. Usual paperwork. She looked up to Greg because he should be the one to fill it out.

It was then she saw the pathologist from the morgue, arriving, looking worried. Wearing only pajama pants and a heavy coat. Her hair a bit messy. She'd obviously been sleeping. It was two in the morning after all.

Curious, Sally watched as Molly knelt down in front of Sherlock, saying something Sally couldn't hear. The reaction was immediate. Unlike with John. She saw as the detectives eyes looked to Molly. Molly with her hand on the side of his head. Sherlock's breathing seemed to slow down.

Molly said something louder, something to John. And Sally watched as John asked the paramedics for oxygen. Greg nodded to them to hand it over. John was careful as he set down the equipment next to the couple. Watched as Molly grabbed the mask, holding it over Sherlock's face, all the while talking to him quietly. Her other hand still holding the side of his head. His eyes never left her face.

Sally looked away then, looking down at the paperwork. But her pen didn't move.

It was too intimate. Too personal. Something she felt she shouldn't have witnessed .

She realized then. Everything. Every single thing she had ever thought about Sherlock was wrong. He always surprised her.

Looking up, she caught Greg's eye. He was a bit apprehensive, his face like he was about to say something to her, but stopped himself. He looked away then.

She felt like she had been let in on a secret. And she couldn't tell anyone. Who would she tell anyway, that Sherlock Holmes, after all, turned out to only be human.


End file.
